Fallen Stars and Broken Dreams (Rising from Ruin Book 1) Read online

  Fallen Stars and Broken Dreams

  Rising from Ruin

  Book 1

  By C.C. Masters

  Copyright 2018 by Dark Sea Publishing.

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Fallen Stars and Broken Dreams

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Katya

  Chapter 1

  Katya

  Chapter 2

  Katya

  Chapter 3

  Two Months Later…

  Katya

  Chapter 4

  Maverik

  Chapter 5

  Katya

  Chapter 6

  Katya

  Chapter 7

  Katya

  Chapter 8

  Katya

  Chapter 9

  Katya

  Chapter 10

  Katya

  Chapter 11

  Katya

  Chapter 12

  Katya

  Chapter 13

  Maverik

  Chapter 14

  Katya

  Chapter 15

  Katya

  Chapter 16

  Katya

  Chapter 17

  Katya

  Chapter 18

  Maverik

  Chapter 19

  Katya

  Chapter 20

  Katya

  Chapter 21

  Katya

  Chapter 22

  Katya

  Chapter 23

  Katya

  Chapter 24

  Katya

  Chapter 25

  Katya

  Chapter 26

  Maverik

  Chapter 27

  Katya

  Chapter 28

  Katya

  Chapter 29

  Katya

  Chapter 30

  Katya

  Chapter 31

  Katya

  Chapter 32

  Katya

  Chapter 33

  Katya

  Chapter 34

  Katya

  Chapter 35

  Katya

  Chapter 36

  Katya

  Chapter 37

  Katya

  Chapter 38

  Katya

  Chapter 39

  Katya

  Chapter 40

  Katya

  Chapter 41

  Maverik

  Chapter 42

  Katya

  Dedication:

  To those who never stop dreaming.

  Thank you to my awesome beta readers!

  Note: This book assumes Jeff Bezos never quit his job on Wall Street to start Amazon. This world is a slightly different place, so there’s room for a different (completely fictional) cast of characters

  Prologue

  Katya

  “I’m home!” I called out to my babushka.

  Usually, this greeting would cause her to storm out of the kitchen and swat at me with her wooden spoon, but our apartment was quiet. She preferred that I speak only Russian to her while we were home.

  “Babulya?” I called again.

  Only silence greeted me.

  I frowned as I walked through the empty kitchen where my babushka would typically be cooking dinner by now. It was odd that her tea kettle was still resting on the stove instead of pushed to the side to make room for her pots and pans.

  My heart dropped when I saw her morning cup of tea still sitting on the counter. Babulya took her first cup strong and plain, but then had a second cup with lunch that she sweetened with sugar and milk. She always said she needed that first cup to wake from the dead, but the second she could savor and enjoy.

  “Babulya?” I said a bit louder.

  Maybe she had gone to the store?

  My eyes flicked back to that cup of tea, and my worry only grew. She would have never left the apartment without drinking that tea.

  Something was wrong.

  I moved forward, breaking into a run as I slammed her bedroom door open. The apartment was small enough that this was the only other place she could be. I looked around slowly, and my brain failed to comprehend what I saw at first.

  My eyes focused, and I shook myself out of my frozen state of shock. I ran to my babushka’s side and knelt beside her. Her body was crumpled on the ground as though she’d lost her balance and slid down the wall.

  The second I touched my babushka’s hand, I knew the truth, but I couldn’t accept it. Her skin was cold and waxy, but I squeezed her hand and whispered her name again, praying she would open her eyes.

  She stared blankly into the distance, and my hands trembled as I gently touched her face. I sucked in air as I tried to hold in a scream, but a pitiful cry still escaped my lips. I brushed the wayward strands of hair out of her eyes as they stared at nothing. My vision blurred as I sat back on my heels and rocked back and forth.

  This couldn’t be happening. My babushka was still vibrant and full of life - she was far from frail or elderly. There had been no signs of failing health that had warned me this was a possibility.

  My chest contracted in pain, and my entire body shook. I knew by looking at her that she was past help, so I didn’t run to call for emergency assistance. I just stared at the face that I loved as tears slowly slid down my cheeks.

  Ice gripped my heart, and pain paralyzed me. Babulya was my only family - the only person I could always rely on to be there for me. Now she was gone, and guilt was eating me up inside. She died completely alone while I was at school, having fun with my best friend. She laid here, desperately struggling for life while I danced. I should have been here when she needed me most.

  The next hour was blurry, and my memories of what happened next were disjointed. I must have called for help at some point, because police and EMTs were pounding at my door. I didn’t remember letting them in, but the image of the EMT shaking her head at the police officer was seared into my brain. That was confirmation that my babushka was really gone.

  On the inside, I was screaming and sobbing. But on the outside, I just sat frozen in place. The next thing I knew, Ryan held me while Mrs. Logan spoke softly with the police officer. I closed my eyes, hoping that this was just a bad dream. A nightmare that could be washed away with the light of day.

  When I opened my eyes again, nothing had changed. The only person who ever loved me was gone, and I was alone. Grief washed through me, and I withdrew from the world. Everything and everyone around me faded to a blur as I floated in a sea of despair. How could this happen?

  Chapter 1

  Katya

  I wore a black dress to the cemetery. My Russian grandmother, my babushka, hadn’t wanted a viewing or a reception – she said she just wanted to be able to rest in peace once she was finally done. I don’t think that either of us thought it would be this soon. I knew it was irrational, but I couldn’t help but feel like she had abandoned me. She had been the only family I’d ever had growing up, and her absence left an empty hole in my heart.

  The doctor that signed her death certificate told me that she had a brain aneurysm that caused a hemorrhagic stroke. He stated there was nothing I could’ve done to save her, but that didn’t ease my guilty conscience. Babulya had complained of a headache that morning, but I’d brushed it aside and rushed out the door as I shouted a goodbye. What if I had stayed home with her that day?

  Logic told me that the doctor was right. Even if I had been home with her, I still wouldn’t hav
e been able to change anything. My heart was a different matter. I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was my fault she died alone. It didn’t matter that the only warning sign that something was wrong was a headache that could have been explained by a million other things. I hated that she’d died alone, and I was devastated that I hadn’t taken the time to tell her I loved her that morning. I should have treasured every last second that I had with her, but now she was gone forever.

  Today it was just me, Ryan, and his parents standing at the side of Babulya’s grave as we said our final goodbyes. The weather was warm now that summer was drawing near, but I just felt cold on the inside. The sky was hazy with clouds blocking out the brightest rays of the sun, but I wanted it to be dark and rainy to match my grief. Babulya had been my entire life, the only parent I’d ever known. My mother had considered me to be an unwanted pregnancy, and she’d only carried me until birth because she didn’t realize she was pregnant until she was over four months in - and my babushka had bribed her.

  My dear mother abandoned me in the NICU sixteen years ago and never looked back. Babulya waited by my incubator for weeks until the doctor had finally given her the okay to pick me up and hold me in her arms. She told me that at the moment that she looked in my big blue eyes, she knew she could never let anyone take me from her. I was hers in every sense of the word.

  My babushka had been tough, and she hadn’t shown it very often, but I knew she had loved me with all of her heart. I was lucky to have her in my life for as long as I did. Without her, I probably would have ended up in the foster care system. The numbness that I’d felt from the moment of her death was slowly wearing off, and I was starting to realize that Babulya was never coming home. The past few days, I had been telling myself that she was waiting at home for me while I stayed at Ryan’s apartment, but looking down at her casket was a cold slap of reality.

  She was gone.

  I wanted to scream and cry and rage at whatever power had taken her away from me. Instead, I just stood there silently, holding all of that emotion deep inside of me, hiding it from the world.

  “Honey?” Mrs. Logan said softly. “Do you want to say anything?”

  I just shook my head, unable to even form words. Ryan tossed a lily down on the shiny black surface of the coffin, and I stared as it slowly slid off the side and into the dirt. As the petals of the flower were slowly covered by the crumbling soil on the side of the grave, something broke inside of me. Whatever dam had been holding back all of my emotions finally gave out under the pressure. It was a simple flower that pushed me over the edge.

  I threw my flower in the direction of the grave, but my eyes were so blurred with tears that I couldn’t tell if it made it. My shoulders shook as I sobbed, and Ryan wrapped his strong arms around me. Ryan and I had been inseparable since we had taken a ballet class together when we were six years old. I just walked up to the little boy with warm brown eyes and asked if he wanted to be my best friend. He accepted right away, and now we were going on ten years of friendship.

  Ryan rubbed my back as I cried out all of the anguish and despair that I’d been holding back for the last couple of days. Mr. and Mrs. Logan stood silently by, probably unsure of what to do about a teenage girl having a mental breakdown in the middle of the cemetery. Babulya assigned them as my legal guardians in her will, and they had done the same with her as Ryan’s guardian. The random thought of how Ryan didn’t have a back-up parent anymore just made me cry harder. Days of pent-up grief came pouring out in an unstoppable flood.

  Once I started to wind down, I heard Mr. Logan clear his throat, but it was Mrs. Logan who spoke.

  “Why don’t we get you back home?” she asked cautiously.

  I hesitated to answer. Once again, I was walking away from my babushka, but this time I was leaving her alone in the cold ground. My body shook as I stared down into the dirt-covered coffin, and I squeezed my eyes shut.

  Please, let me wake up from this nightmare.

  When I opened my eyes, nothing had changed. This wasn’t a dream I could wake up from, and Babulya was truly gone forever. Tears streamed down my face, and I was helpless to stop it.

  Ryan cupped my chin and tilted my face up to meet his eyes.

  “I can stay here with you if you want,” he offered.

  “No,” I whispered as I wiped the tears from my face. “Your mom is right. We should go.”

  It was just an empty shell that we were leaving to be buried underground and forgotten. It wasn’t really my babushka in there. I had to believe that she was somewhere better. Maybe she was reunited with the love of her life, and she was smiling down at me with my grandfather at her side.

  Ryan kept his arm around me as we walked back to the car that the Logans rented for the occasion. I let out an insane-sounding laugh at the thought of doing something as mundane as getting on the subway the moment that my babushka’s body was lowered into the ground, as if this were just a normal day and not the day that my entire world collapsed.

  My laugh dissolved into hysteria, and Ryan’s parents looked at me with concern. Ryan just kept his arm around me and took it in stride. I knew he would be here with me regardless of anything that happened. If I started running through the streets and screaming, he would chase after me.

  Ryan’s unwavering support helped to steady me. Ryan and I weren’t just friends; he was my other half. We were frequently paired together in performances because we worked so well together. I trusted him absolutely and knew he would never let me fall - both literally and figuratively speaking.

  I tried to take a deep breath, but I was still shaky. There were a million different emotions running through my mind right now, but none of them felt right. What was the right way to feel when you realized that the last bit of your family is gone forever, and you were now alone on this earth?

  Just as I had that dark thought, a black SUV pulled up, and four men got out. I ignored them at first, because I assumed that they were visiting the cemetery for their own family member, but when they stopped in front of me, I paused.

  An older gentleman in his sixties stepped forward and held out his hands towards me.

  “Ekaterina, I came to offer my condolences and to say goodbye to my dear mladshaya sestra,” he said in a thick Russian accent.

  My jaw dropped in shock. Was this man truly Babulya’s brother? How did he know who I was?

  Babulya had told me that she left her family behind to marry my grandfather, but I had no idea she even had a brother. I knew her parents had passed away when I was just a child, and I thought I was the only family she had.

  The Logans kept moving to the car, and Mrs. Logan shooed a reluctant Ryan along with them, leaving me to face the stranger alone. They must have assumed I knew him. Because all Russians knew each other, right?

  “My name is Sergei Mikalov,” the stranger said in a deep voice.

  “Spasibo,” I murmured to him. “Eta ochen’ mila s Vashey starany.” I took the stranger’s hands in my own and gazed up at him, trying to see any family resemblance to my beloved babushka.

  “You speak Russian?” he asked with a pleased look on his face.

  I nodded. “Babulya preferred it.” I hesitated. “She never mentioned a brother.”

  He gazed at me for a moment, the planes of his face hard and unyielding.

  “I stayed behind in Russia when she and nashi roditeli came to the US,” he finally said. “I followed years later but respected her decision to stay out of the family business.”

  My hackles rose, and I let go of his hands. From the way he spoke, I had an inkling of the type of business he meant. Not everyone in the Russian community was a law-abiding citizen, and there was an extensive network of men who engaged in criminal activity. They considered themselves to be a brotherhood, but those on the outside called them mafia. My babushka had hinted at her father not being a good man, but I hadn’t expected this. I should have known from the way this man was dressed and how the three other men flanked him r
espectfully that something was off. His companions were guards, their eyes alert for any danger, which indicated that he was higher up in the Bratva. I had to be very careful here - I didn’t want to disappear.

  Babulya had escaped to America with her parents in the seventies, but she left the Russian community in Brighton Beach when she got married. My grandfather had been of Russian heritage, but he was born and raised in Brighton Beach. She loved him so much that she left her world behind and made him the center of her universe. After he died, she just wasn’t the same, but she still never reached out to any family despite her loneliness. If she’d known she had a brother in the city, it must have been extreme circumstances that kept her isolated and alone.

  I gave Sergei a tense smile. “Spasiba za to, shto prishli sevodnya. May I show you to her grave?”

  He looked over my shoulder and toward Babulya’s final resting place. “Nyet, ni nada,” he murmured. “I would like to say my goodbyes in private.” He glanced over at the Logans. “I will respect Svetlana’s wishes not to draw you into my world. But surely a young girl needs family?”

  Ice crept up my spine. If Babulya had wanted to keep me far away from him, then I knew it was for a reason. She taught me that family was everything, but I trusted her judgment where her brother was concerned. If she didn’t think it was safe for me to meet him, then I’d avoid any further contact with him.

  “Babulya made sure I would be well cared for in her absence,” I assured Sergei with a wobbly smile.

  I wondered if this was why she had asked for her death to remain private. Had she been afraid of me meeting this side of the family? It said a lot that she was willing to give up a traditional Russian funeral. My babushka was very old fashioned, and she was proud of our Russian heritage.

  I saw a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Very well. I will give you my contact information. Perhaps I can find you a nice Russian husband? I know quite a few good men who would be pleased to have a beautiful ballerina.”

  My breath caught when he so casually mentioned ballet. Just how much did he know about me? Babulya wouldn’t have told him anything. Had he checked into me after her death? Or had he been watching both of us for longer?

  “Ivan?” He motioned to one of his men, who pulled out a card and laid it in Sergei’s outstretched hand. Sergei then handed the card to me and gave me one last searching look before saying his goodbyes.